Putting his phone away, my father places his palm on my shoulder and steers me back to the entrance. “Lyla, the wedding rehearsal dinner is not the time or the place to be badmouthing your sister’s fiancé.”
“You can pretend she’s a saint in her white dress all you want, but deep down, everyone knows she’s a slutty gold digger.”
“That’s it. I’ve had enough of your mouth. Thane’s driving you home right now.”
“I’m not a child! You can’t send me to my room.”
“Wanna bet?” he says before he walks off. Going over to the table, he speaks to my grandmother, who hands him the purse that was hanging over my chair. Reaching inside, he pulls out my key ring and then whistles and motions for Thane. The biker hurries over to him, sloshing the glass of water in his hand. “Drive Lyla home.”
“Yes, sir.” Thane puts the glass down on the closest table and takes the keys.
“Good night, Ly. Try waking up on the right side of the bed tomorrow,” my father says before he offers me my purse and walks away.
Still beaming at me, Thane says, “Are you ready?”
“No, but that doesn’t seem to matter, does it?”
Hefting my purse on my shoulder, I lead the way out the front door, glad to escape the noisy restaurant, even if I’m not fond of my escort.
“I know that you’re not happy about your father trying to set us up,” Thane says as we settle into my car. He adjusts the driver’s seat and rearview mirror while I fasten my seat belt on the passenger side. He’s going to do exactly what my father told him, and I don’t feel like arguing with him over who is driving.
“No kidding.”
He cranks the engine and then backs out of the parking spot. “Don’t tell your father, but I’m not actually interested in dating you either.”
“Oh, wow. That makes me feel so much better!” I tell him sarcastically.
“No, it’s not you. It’s me,” he says as we pull out onto the dark, empty street.
“Right. Sure.”
“I’m serious. You’re beautiful and all, but I’m just not looking for a girlfriend right now.”
“I hear you, loud and clear. You don’t have to make excuses or shower me with fake compliments.”
“Great. So can we just pretend we’re giving this a shot tomorrow? You know, to get your dad off my back?” He doesn’t deny that his compliment wasn’t genuine.
“Why can’t you just tell him you’re not interested in dating me?”
“Because he’ll get pissed. And I’m newly patched in, remember? I’m supposed to do whatever I’m told.”
“Right.”
“So, you’ll be my date at the wedding?”
“Sure. It’s not like I have anything better to do tomorrow, right?”
“Thanks, Lyla.”
Neither of us says anything else for a while before a thought occurs to me. I can’t resist asking Thane, “Did he tell you explicitly not to sleep with me?”
The biker chuckles without taking his eyes off the road. “Of course he told me not to sleep with you. What kind of dad would he be if he didn’t?”
“And you’re not even the least bit inclined to do it just because he told you not to?”
His head whips around to look at me, causing the car to swerve slightly. “Are you…are you asking me to…”
“No, Thane. Definitely not.”
I don’t want my first time to be with someone who just admitted that he’s not attracted to me.
But I do need to lose my virginity to someone eventually.
I never expected to turn twenty-one and still have my V-card intact.
Going through high school without dating was easy because the boys were so immature. I thought once I got to college that things would be different. That there would be guys there who liked smart and quirky girls.
I was wrong.
I didn’t have a single date while my friends and roommates slept with all sorts of different men, sometimes more than one a week.
My sister has always been the pretty one, while supposedly I got all the brains in the family.
I still wouldn’t trade her even if I could. I would rather be alone than a fake, brainless trophy wife.
CHAPTER SIX
Lyla
Imust be getting tipsy on all the cheap champagne because Thane is starting to look really good tonight. Kissable. It’s likely because he said he wasn’t interested in me. Now I want to try and change his mind. Which is pathetic. He’s also blurry, thanks to my lack of glasses. Laurel must have stolen them from my nightstand last night, but when I confronted her about it, she just told me, “I’m sure they’ll turn up tomorrow.” I honestly don’t think the lack of lenses on my face does anything to enhance my natural beauty, no matter what anyone says.
I think I’m just feeling a little lonelier than usual seeing all the couples dancing together at the reception, looking at each other with big lovey-dovey eyes. Well, except for my sister. Dollar signs are all I can see in the bride’s eyes.
She’s always wanted a “grander,” “bigger” life, something more than being stuck in a small town where a motorcycle club is the only real excitement.
Dancing is, sadly, the one thing Thane refused to do on our “date.” I’m not crushing on him, I swear – I just keep staring at him, trying to figure out my father’s angle for putting us together. Did he really think we would just “hit it off”? Why was he so worried about my plus-one?
I’m considering how to try and convince him to cave and at least walk around with me when a golden head catches my attention in the crowd. My squinting eyes stay with him until he comes into view – an unfamiliar, pretty boy. Like gorgeous in a model-perfect way. He looks sort of lost. Must be one of John’s nephews because he’s sort of familiar-looking…if I only had my damned glasses!
When I realize I’ve been staring for way too long, I turn my attention back to Thane. That’s when I realize that I wasn’t the only one captivated by the stranger.
Thane’s head moves whenever the blond moves, trying to get a better look at him around other people. It’s not a way I’ve ever seen a man look at another one. If I had any gay friends in town, I sadly wouldn’t know it. Nobody around here has ever come out of the closet.
The people in Clayton aren’t the most open-minded, but I’ve always thought people should be with whoever they want, whoever makes them happy.
Judging by the intensity with which Thane is focused, I have a guess about whom he wants. Thankfully, that brings a dawning realization that “not being his type” had nothing to do with my physical appearance.
“Who is that blond guy?” I ask Thane casually since I can’t get a good look at him.
“I don’t know, but he’s…”
“He’s what?” I ask when he trails off.
“Nothing. Sorry.” He appears to shake off his fascination and says, “Can I get you another glass of champagne?”
“Sure,” I agree, knowing full well that he wants to hit the bar, where the blond stranger is milling about.